


colours of your life & love

by belovedyuuri (belovedstill)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Artist Katsuki Yuuri, Barista Katsuki Yuuri, College Student Katsuki Yuuri, Domestic Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Established Relationship, M/M, Slice of Life, Teacher Victor Nikiforov, Yuuri and Victor are not in the same academic setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-02 09:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13314966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedstill/pseuds/belovedyuuri
Summary: All Viktor remembers now is feeling so overwhelmingly loved, tasting the strawberry jam on Yuuri’s tongue and feeling their hearts beating in a comfortable rhythm against each other. Of course, the answer he gave wasyes. It always wasyes.A glance into the domestic life of Yuuri and Viktor, in seven parts.





	1. mischief

**Author's Note:**

> written for [domesticvictuuriweek](https://domesticvictuuriweek.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. The proper title is _colours of ~~you're~~ your life  & love_  
> get it? because Yuuri is an artist and Viktor is—yeah, you got it c:

It started with a simple question, one Yuuri murmured against Viktor’s lips on a syrupy-sweet, lazy Saturday morning, exactly two weeks ago.

“Will you pose for me?”

And then he kissed him.

All Viktor remembers now is feeling so overwhelmingly loved, tasting the strawberry jam on Yuuri’s tongue and feeling their hearts beating in a comfortable rhythm against each other. Of course, the answer he gave was _yes_. It always was _yes_.

 

* * *

 

Viktor can’t take this anymore. Ever since the toilet break he managed to beg out of Yuuri, the man has been (unsuccessfully, mind you) hiding his amusement behind the canvas.

“What’s so funny?”

Yuuri’s eyes jump to him and then immediately back to the portrait he’s been painting for the last three hours. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says in the same tone Viktor used on him two mornings ago when he emerged from their bedroom with a truly spectacular bedhead (which wasn’t Viktor’s own doing in any way. At all. Nuh-uh).

But Yuuri’s eyes are smiling, seriousness only an attempt to cover up the true emotions lightning his irises. His lips create a line more defined than in his relaxed state, dark eyebrows raised the tiny bit higher, as they are whenever Yuuri’s about to laugh or cry but he still desperately tries to contain either.

“I’m not laughing,” Yuuri adds when Viktor quirks his eyebrow, and Viktor hears it as the _Not yet_ that it is. “Don’t move, you’re distracting me.”

Viktor huffs a smile but obliges. Not moving his face, he lets Yuuri work on the portrait in peace. Whatever is making him bite his lip to stop himself from laughing, Viktor’s sure he’ll find out soon enough.

Maybe it’s his forehead again. Or the two light birthmarks above his right eyebrow that together, according to Yuuri, look like an extremely dissatisfied moustached man.

Maybe that’s it, he thinks as he observes Yuuri’s every move – maybe Yuuri’s final grade project is actually a study of the very same thing that made him laugh till a bellyache after their impromptu pillow fight last week. Viktor can only imagine the contemplation on the face of Yuuri’s strict art professor as she looks for depth and symbolism in a close-up of his eyebrow.

The idea bubbles laughter in his stomach, it’s so ridiculous—though if Lilia Baranovskaya found life and love in the painting, Viktor would not argue at all; ever since he met Yuuri, every part of his body has been full of these two things to the brim.

He feels eyes on him and only then does he realise that his shoulders are shaking. He mouths _sorry_ to Yuuri and tries his best to stay still.

He gets a silent _love you, too_ in return.

Makkachin shuffles into the living room at one point, nose close to the floor as she does when she searches for her favourite toy. She stops at Yuuri’s side and gazes up at him, then shifts her eyes to the hand that moves with every brush stroke.

“What do you think, Makka?” Yuuri asks, not looking away from his work as he drops his left hand to Makkachin’s head and runs his fingers through her too-long, curly fur. (Viktor makes a mental note to book an appointment at the pet saloon later on.)

Whatever is on the canvas, she clearly likes it, if her tongue rolling out in a happy pant is any proof.

Yuuri hums to himself and nods, mirth dancing on his face. “I thought so. Might be my best work yet.”

Viktor has never wanted to see Yuuri’s art more than in this very moment. It’s not every day that pure confidence and joy about his work are written all over Yuuri’s face – that look itself creates a piece of art worthy of Louvre.

“You’re taking quite some time on this portrait today,” Viktor says after some time of sitting as still as he can. “Has it been four hours now? Five? I thought you were nearly done with it already.”

Yuuri nods. “I am. Almost.” Viktor’s eyes follow his paintbrush as it blindly searches for the water mug. It misses once and then again until Yuuri actually pays attention to what he’s doing. “And it’s only been two hours. _Without_ the ‘quick’, one-hour break you took.” He pauses to give Viktor a pointed look. “To grade some papers.”

_How did you_ know? Viktor wants to ask, but there’s no point in it, really. Instead, he playfully rolls his eyes and smiles when Yuuri murmurs a soft “I saw that.”

With not nearly enough head rubs, Makkachin moves out of their sight, continuing her search. Viktor feels a pang of guilt for stealing her plushie earlier and throwing it into the washing machine.

“Besides,” Yuuri continues, snapping Viktor’s attention back to him. He hovers his brush over the paint palette, eyes moving from one colour to another in indecision, “You can’t rush perfection, you know.”

“In my wildest dreams I wouldn’t rush you.”

The light pink that dusts Yuuri’s cheeks at the implication is the only reward Viktor hopes for every day of his life.

“Thanks,” Yuuri says softly, smiling at Viktor, before his eyes move back to the canvas and the left corner of his mouth curls in obvious humour, eyebrow arched. “I wasn’t talking about myself, though.” He moves the paintbrush covered in the vivid red against the canvas, oblivious to the sweet, warmth implosion sucking all air out of Viktor’s lungs.

Three years they’ve been living together. Three years, and that smile still kills Viktor every day in the best ways possible. How lucky must he be to be able to live his entire life in just one Katsuki Yuuri look and be reborn every time he sees any of the private smiles the man hides from so many people but him?

“So perfect,” Yuuri claims under a sigh, shaking his head in amused wonder.

Viktor dies some more.

Whether the praise feels like the lightness of sunrays on his skin or the beautiful destruction that it is, he can never decide.  Were he not already blessed by Yuuri’s presence in his daily life, he would keep coming back to him for more, no matter how many miles he’d have to walk.

Finally, Yuuri judges the painting for one final time before he puts his brush away. “I think it’s done.”

“Can I see it?”

Yuuri bites his lip, trying to stop his smile from taking over half his face. It also stops him from replying, though, so he just nods and beckons Viktor over with one hand.

The first thing Viktor registers is not what’s on the canvas, but the puffed little breaths coming from Yuuri – Yuuri, who’s standing so close that the air vibrates with his held-in laughter, who’s trying to hold himself together with his arms crossed over his middle, his eyes fixed on Viktor’s face and nowhere else.

From the canvas, a stickman with a heart for its mouth stares back at him with his radiantly blue eyes, a mess of long, grey, wavy lines starting at the top of his head and flying in all directions. It reminds Viktor of a Medusa drawing he attempted as a child, except the living-room background of Yuuri’s painting is much more elaborate than anything child Viktor could ever achieve.

“This is—“

“Beautiful?” Yuuri wraps his arm around Viktor’s middle and leans into his side, his body shaking with silent laughter. Viktor has no choice but to pull him even closer, never looking away from the canvas. “Incredible? Amazing? Show-stopping? Spectacular?”

Viktor snorts softly and shakes his head. “Totally unique,” he says. Yuuri’s laughter sounds freely against his chin. “Is this what I’ve been posing for every day for the last two weeks?”

Yuuri laughs and kisses Viktor’s cheek before looking back at the painting. “What would you do if I said yes?”

“I’d say that I’d get you back for this one.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes and steps away. “Then no, it was only today. Anyway, you can’t do that.” He turns to Viktor with his hands on his hips. “This is _me_ getting back at _you_. So we’re even now.”

Viktor frowns for a moment, carding through his head for anything he must have done to deserve a comeback—before it hits him, startling a snicker out of him. “Is this for the other day?” he asks, grinning. “Your bedhead looked very cute, Yuuri.”

“It was all over the place,” Yuuri argues. “More so than usual. You messed it up on purpose.”

“You liked when I was doing it, though.” Viktor smiles and arches his eyebrow. “Didn’t you like me stroking your hair this way, helping you wake up?”

“I did but—that’s so not the point.” Yuuri sighs and glances back at the canvas. “We had a guest over—Phichit was there, you should have known that anything embarrassing in his vicinity would be saved and shared forever.”

Now that Yuuri’s mentioned it, Viktor recalls the sound of a phone camera shutter and a squeak of glee coming from the living room couch that morning when Yuuri finally got up. His eyes widen with interest and with his phone having seemingly materialised in his hand, he opens Phichit’s Instagram.

[a photo of Yuuri standing in the bedroom door, one side of his face marked by pillow creases. He’s rubbing his eye with his right hand while his left is curled in one of Viktor’s old, well-loved T-Shirts. His dark hair is stuck in all possible directions, clearly a result of having fingers ran through it countless of times.]

**phichit+chu** _Somebody had fun this morning ;3_ _#sleepingbeauty #defyinggravity #crownsareoverrated #bedheadofthecentury_

“Oh...” Viktor bites his lip and glances up at Yuuri who’s looking at him expectantly with arms crossed over his chest and soft exasperation in his eyes.

He presses the heart on the screen.

Yuuri shakes his head. “You’re going to save it, aren’t you?”

It’s not even voiced like a question so Viktor doesn’t bother replying. Instead, he asks, “How do you feel about it?” and relishes in the sight of Yuuri’s embarrassed smile.

“The photo itself isn’t that bad, I guess,” Yuuri says after a whole minute of gathering his thoughts. “But yesterday when I served coffee to this one girl, she stared at me and asked me if I was ‘The Bedhead Guy’.”

Viktor _awws_ and pulls Yuuri into a hug. He saves Phichit’s photo on his phone at the same time he kisses Yuuri’s head.

“I can’t believe you made me sit still for three hours for nothing,” he murmurs, more amused than anything. “It took an hour alone to braid the flowers into my hair exactly the same way as before.”

Yuuri’s chuckle feels warm against his shoulder.

“I won’t even tell you what a hell it was to put the eye-shadow just right, too.”

Yuuri hums softly and presses a kiss to Viktor’s cheek. “Serves you right,” he says and leans back, excited eyes finding Viktor’s. “Would you like to see the actual portrait now? I’m pretty proud of it.”

“You mean to tell me this isn’t the masterpiece that will lead you to passing the class with flying colours?”

Yuuri snorts, taking the canvas off the easel.“Nope. This one is for your eyes only.” He lays it on the breakfast bar, where it’ll be safe from Makkachin’s curious nose, just in case. “Wait right here,” he says and disappears into their bedroom.

When he returns, it’s with another canvas in his hands, one he sets on the easel, all the while hiding it from Viktor’s view with his own body. He chances a look over his shoulder, a mix of excitement and nervousness in his sparkling eyes, searching for something. Whatever it is, he must find it.

He steps away and Viktor is _lost_.

_Purple_ washes over him. _Colours_ burst in his chest. Time freezes and the world stills; the portrait is the only thing truly alive anymore.

It’s—Viktor. But at the same time, it’s not. The portrait is not of a person, nor a creature, not anything palpable – it’s emotions expressed in the hues of blue and purple and red, it’s _innocence_ and _love_ and _magic_.

He thinks he can hear music, too.

The Viktor in the painting— _fairy_ Viktor, _love_ Viktor, a _Viktor_ Viktor himself has never seen—is clothed in the same flowy, lilac robe he’s wearing, the fabric curling around his form and slipping off his left shoulder. His long, silver hair rests on his right and falls down his chest in an intricate braid, flowers of purple hibiscus, orange blossom, and red aster blooming in the snug embrace of the strands. One _papilio ulysses_ butterfly perches on one of the white orange blossoms, its wings spread wide in a fashionable, black-and-blue presentation, another is caught mid-air right above the purple petals of a hibiscus flower.

As if stuck in a dream, Viktor is only slightly aware of Yuuri stepping close to him and wrapping his arms around his waist in a half-embrace. His head rests on Viktor’s shoulder, both of them looking at the painting now.

“Your heart is beating very fast,” Yuuri murmurs after a stretch of silence; his voice is quiet yet it strikes Viktor like a waterfall of _freezing_ and _hot_ at the same time, pulling him from his trans with the same intensity that accompanies resurfacing for air after being underwater for too long. He grasps at Yuuri’s hand, now resting over his heart, and intertwines their fingers together, giving them a light squeeze.

“This one,” he whispers, all traces of smile gone from his awe-parted lips. “I’ll be standing next to this one in your very first art exhibition.”

Yuuri snorts softly, his breath tickling Viktor’s chin. “You’ll have to wait a long time for that to happen.”

It takes all of Viktor’s willpower to tear his gaze away from the portrait but when he finally does, Yuuri’s eyes are there to push the entire world to the sidelines, suddenly not important at all. He lifts their fingers to his lips, brushing a kiss over Yuuri’s hand as soft as the butterfly wings in the painting.

“Whenever that happens, I’ll be ready.”


	2. care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you think Yuuri is stubborn as heck when he's well, then you haven't seen him when he's sick.  
> In which Yuuri is sick... and Viktor is, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning: a character throws up in this chapter** , it's nothing described too explicitly, but it's definitely there
> 
> written for day 2 of the [domesticvictuuriweek](https://domesticvictuuriweek.tumblr.com/) on tumblr c:

_Email your professor you won't be in class tomorrow,_ says the sticky note on Yuuri’s phone, right under _Take your meds_.

“No,” he grunts to himself. He takes the paper off, turns off the medication reminder alarm, and rolls onto his other side.

 _YES,_ says another post-it note, this time shaped like a speech bubble, stuck to the stickman painting Viktor insisted they hang on their wall. At first, Yuuri found the idea ridiculous – the painting was a joke, a prank, why would Viktor ever want something like this in their bedroom when Yuuri could paint him whatever he wished for?

Well, here is his answer. Even when Viktor is at work, he still finds ways to talk _at_ him. On most days, it's very appreciated. Yuuri loves waking up to notes saying _Good morning!_ or _Have a nice day!_ or even _It's your turn to buy bread_ _J_ seemingly coming right from the enormous red heart-mouth of the stick figure.

(One time Viktor wrote him a pun-question on a post-it note stuck to the painting and Yuuri only found another piece of paper with the answer to it three hours later when he opened his lunch. The photo of him laughing with his head lying on the buffet table, exasperated beyond measure, remains one of Phichit’s most popular Instagram photos, simply captioned “ _when bae makes you snort tea all over the place #thatslove #thatpunwasnteventhatfunny_ ”)

Today, though, Yuuri wishes the notes weren't an option.

“I feel fine,” he grumbles. “I'm still going to the class tomorrow.”

He glares at the painting, daring the _YES_ to turn into _NO_ , or the stick figure!Viktor to tilt his head and give him the _that was not a suggestion_ smile. Nothing like that happens, so he only grunts and turns back to his phone, feeling as victorious as a human being can be when drenched in sweat and having a 39°C fever.

He swallows the antibiotics Viktor left on the bedside table for him and ignores the fruit bowl with a churn in his stomach. It's 4PM already and he hasn't eaten anything since he tried a slice of bread this morning, only to make an emergency use of the bucket Viktor set by the bed for him. He downs the bottle of water and falls back on the pillows, a groan punched out of him at the impact. His head explodes with hot ache, so he curls on his side again and presses his temple against his pillow.

He hates being sick.

...not that he's sick enough to miss class.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes up, the room is dark but for the swath of light on the living room floor flowing from the bathroom. For a moment, he doesn't know where he is, and when he hears the sound of retching, he jerks on the bed and grabs at the empty bucket. It takes him a minute leaning over the edge of the bed to realise he's not the one vomiting.

“Makkachin?” he calls, cringing at how weak his voice is - he barely hears himself.

It's enough for Makka, though – she whines in reply and appears in the bathroom light, looking at Yuuri, only to go back to the other room.

If it's not Makkachin who's being sick—

“Viktor,” Yuuri breathes, weakness and discomfort forgotten. His bones ache when he carefully sits up, the world shifting dangerously before settling into an order that's much better known for him.

In the bathroom, Viktor throws up again, the sound followed by another whine—not Makkachin’s this time.

“Viktor?” Yuuri exits the bedroom and manages the distance between the door to the bathroom in several steps.

Viktor is kneeling in front of the toilet bowl, gripping the edges of it like his life depends on never letting go. His left arm is still stuck in the sleeve of his brown coat and his scarf has fallen off his neck and onto the floor.

“Oh, Viktor…”

Viktor shakes his head, body trembling with the exertion. “Don't come near,” he says and grimaces right after at the foul taste in his mouth. He dry heaves for a second and Yuuri can't help but look away. Nothing more lands in the toilet, though. Still, the sight and smell alone work just fine to trigger Yuuri’s own sickness.

“Will you be okay?” Yuuri asks, eyes clenched and nose consciously blocked.

For a moment, his question is only met with silence. He makes sure that his nausea is in check and opens one eye, just when Viktor flushes the toilet.

“Teeth,” Viktor mumbles only, lips snapping together when the word is out.

With the mess no longer there, Yuuri reaches him as fast as he can while trying not to get too dizzy and helps him to the sink. “Will you be okay by yourself?” he asks, handing Viktor his toothbrush and the toothpaste despite his question. Only when the man nods does he let go. “I'll make you some camomile tea. It’ll make your stomach less upset.”

Viktor nods again, and so Yuuri leaves Makkachin to watch over him.

 

* * *

 

Viktor is already in bed, still dressed in his work clothes, with Makkachin resting at his feet, when Yuuri walks in with two cups and a thermos full of camomile tea. With shaking hands, he pours each of them half a cup and leaves them on the bedside table to cool. There’s enough tea in the thermos for one or two cups more so he stores it next to the bed for later.

Viktor’s lying on his side, facing the painting. Yuuri winces inwardly as he follows his eyes, right to the post-it note still stuck to stickman!Viktor’s mouth. He should have taken it off.

“Did you send the email?” Viktor asks, his weak voice muffled a little by his pillow.

 _I already told you I won’t do it,_ thinks one part in Yuuri. He’s stubborn, he knows, but he also knows that he can take one class tomorrow—despite how weak he gets when he stands for too long.

Viktor makes a small sound in the back of his throat and tiredly closes his eyes. “I thought so.”

“Nevermind me,” Yuuri says and sits down by Viktor’s side. As much as he knows that moving is the last thing Viktor wants to do right now – and he _knows_ – Viktor should really take off his clothes. “Let’s get you changed into your PJs.”

Viktor’s forehead creases at the thought alone. “Yuuri…”

Yuuri smiles softly and tsks. “That was not a suggestion, love.”

 

* * *

 

“Yes, I’ll tell him. Thank you again,” Yuuri says to the phone. When he hangs up, he’s met with a weak, yet wide smile on Viktor’s face. “What?”

“I can’t believe you just called Yakov to tell him I won’t be in school tomorrow.” After a small chuckle, Viktor’s smile gets even broader. “You’re like—Mama Yuuri calling the headmaster. Which you actually did. Because I’m sick.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes and smiles, too. “He told you to get some rest,” he says and half-heartedly ruffles Viktor’s hair. “So rest.”

 

* * *

 

They’ve just managed to doze off, only to be shaken awake by the sound of the doorbell.

Yuuri opens his eyes and winces. “Oh no—” he manages, right before Makkachin shoots her head up and barks.

Barking is not good. Barking is hell when his head is already pounding.

Viktor seems to agree with him on that, if his prolonged groan is anything to go by. “Who and why?”

Yuuri rubs at his eyes and reaches out to pet Makkachin to make her calm down—but she’s already off the bed and in the hallway, probably sitting by the door. He sighs falls back on his pillow. “Must be the food delivery.”

“You ordered food?”

“Just chicken soup and some light sandwiches. We need to eat something.” He moves to sit up just as the doorbell rings again. He’s stopped by a hand on his chest.

“I’ll go,” Viktor says and gets up. “You rest.”

He’s as wobbly on his feet as Yuuri feels whenever he walks.

One minute later, Makkachin stops barking and the apartment is filled with silence once more.

 

* * *

 

The food sits still in their stomachs for now, a fact both of them are glad about as they lie on their bed facing each other. Makkachin is snuggled between them, her body heat too much and not enough at the same time. They won’t make her move away, though, and neither will she do it on her own accord, not if it means putting a stop to the pets she’s getting from both of them – their fingers are intertwined on her head as they scratch behind her ear.

The room is flooded with soft, dimmed light coming from one of their bedside lamps.

“I don’t want to go to my class tomorrow,” Yuuri admits in a whisper, like it’s something to be ashamed of. To him, it is. It only proves that, yes, he is weak if all it takes to get him down is a slight fever.

Viktor hums, the sound breaking just after a second with a grimace on his face. It’ll take a moment for the painkillers to start working. “Good,” he says quietly. “I already emailed your professor for you.”

Yuuri frowns and lifts his head off his pillow—and promptly regrets doing that. “When?”

“When you were talking to Yakov.” Viktor gives him a small smile. “That’s nice… Cancelling each other’s classes.” His eyes blink tiredly until they fall shut. “Shame it’s ‘cause we’re sick.”

Yuuri breathes softly and gently squeezes Viktor’s fingers.

Maybe it’s better that he doesn’t go to the class. He probably couldn’t focus for longer than eight minutes. At home, though, with Viktor and Makkachin… Even feverish and with a skewed balance, he can still take care of them both.

“We’ll take care of each other,” Viktor murmurs on the verge of sleep, like he can hear Yuuri’s every thought.

Maybe he does, Yuuri thinks and closes his eyes, ready for some much-needed rest. It wouldn’t be so bad if he could.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Yuuri wakes up to a sleeping Viktor and a new post-it note on the painting, one with three words only:

 _I love you_ _♥_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!! stay healthy or get well soon <3


	3. alone time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As soon as the door closes, all the noise suddenly comes to a stop. In which Yuuri and Viktor spent the day babysitting their neighbours' kids and now it's their time to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for day 3 of [domesticvictuuriweek](https://domesticvictuuriweek.tumblr.com/) on tumblr c:  
> I'm one day behind but I'll catch up soon enough!

As soon as the door closes, all the noise suddenly comes to a stop. Sara and Mila’s girls are no longer there with their happy laughter and excited chatter. Makkachin stops barking, too, opting for letting out soft puffs of breath while lying on her bed in the corner the living room.

(That bed is strictly for afternoon naps – she usually spends the night together with Yuuri and Viktor.)

The TV’s off, as well, no music or kid cartoons playing anymore – not that the girls paid much attention to those, anyway. They much more preferred running around and playing tag with Viktor and Makkachin or singing the songs they learned in the kindergarten that week.

At one point, in hopes of not having to remind the kids to slow down when running around the couch (“Look out for the coffee table, you’ll hurt yourselves!”) or next to Makkachin’s bed (“Don’t trip on the toys!”), Yuuri proposed a trip to the nearby ice-skating rink. Surely, with the girls on the ice, gripping to Viktor’s and Yuuri’s hands like their lives depended on it, it would be much calmer and less nerve-wracking, to look after them, right?

(No. Not right. So very ‘not right’. The girls know how to skate. They chased each other all over the ice rink, shrieking and laughing and screaming and trying to outdo each other and “Uncle Yuuri, look!”, “Uncle Viktor, here!”, “Look what I can do!”, “I bet you can’t do _this_ ”. Yuuri and Viktor tried to stop them from copying the older skaters practising on the ice but still several jumps and spins were attempted and knees were hurt and tears were shed. Some of them were probably Yuuri’s.)

Now, the silence surrounding the apartment seems unnatural and it feels so _wrong_. This is their place, their home, the sudden lack of noise shouldn’t be upsetting on Yuuri’s senses but somehow, for the first several seconds, the quiet around him _screams_. His ears ring and he pushes his palms against them, sucks his hands over the flesh, and pulls them away. The ringing persists, then becomes less and less noticeable, until it stops altogether.

Viktor takes his hands into his own, lifts them up, and in the very next moment, Yuuri feels lips against his knuckles.

He takes a slow, deep breath and opens his eyes.

Viktor smiles at him and kisses his forehead, and Yuuri doesn’t need to think. He leans into the touch and allows himself to ease back into the feeling of _home_.

“Let’s relax,” Viktor murmurs against his skin, a note of tiredness colouring his voice. When he takes a step back and pulls Yuuri towards the couch, he follows willingly. It’s too early to call it a night, after all.

 

* * *

 

It’s strange to see Viktor interact with children, Yuuri thinks as he mindlessly pencils lines on the empty page of his sketchbook, chancing for inspiration. Sure, Viktor is a teacher, but his students are of high-school age. Yuuri’s never seen him around children before.

It’s not that Viktor is good at being careful with kids – he’s definitely not, if encouraging them to eat as many sweets as they want or to run around the apartment faster to catch him is anything to go by. But the girls? They love him. Viktor has the energy to rival the one natural of their youth, even with still getting slightly breathless after finally defeating his sickness last week.

Yuuri looks up from his sketch of pointless lines and circles and rests his eyes on the very man consuming his thoughts.

Viktor’s unfairly beautiful with his body free of tension as he sits on the couch across from him, sideways, mirroring Yuuri’s positions. His bend up knees are hidden under the soft, beige blanket that also covers Yuuri’s legs. Their feet rest next to each other, Viktor’s bracketing both of Yuuri’s. When Yuuri shifts his right leg and brushes his toes against Viktor’s, he gets a glance, a foot nudge back, and a smile, before the man’s blue eyes move down to follow the text of his book again.

His reading glasses make him look like a teacher.

For some reason, Yuuri’s tired brain finds that thought hilarious.

—and maybe a bit attractive.

...the glasses, not Viktor being a teacher. (...definitely the glasses.)

Something falls into place within Yuuri, then. His fingers itch around the pencil, a familiar, _desired_ feeling, and he wastes not a second more. He turns his sketchbook to a new page and starts drawing.

 

* * *

 

_Babysitting at 12_ says the post-it note speech bubble on the stickman!Viktor painting Yuuri created all those weeks ago. Yuuri lets out a heavy sigh and throws the paper away.

“That bad, huh?” Viktor asks, already back from the bathroom. When has he come back, Yuuri hasn’t noticed.

He sighs again and shrugs. “It wasn’t _bad_ ,” he says, stepping closer to the bed. He’s already dressed in his PJs so he doesn’t wait another moment before slipping under the covers, then turns on his side. With his head resting on his forearm, he watched Viktor change into much more comfortable clothes as he searches his sleepy brain for words that explain how he’s feeling.  “It was just... Just—“

“DIfferent?” Viktor offers. He loses his shirt. “Exhausting?” And the trousers.

“Yeah.”

Viktor nods in understanding. “Sounds like you could use a break.” There goes the underwear. “In fact, we both could.”

“What do you have in mind?” Yuuri asks. He grabs Viktor’s PJs from underneath the covers when Viktor is putting his clothes away, and throws them at him when he’s back.

Viktor catches them and dons them right up. “What do you say,” he drawls, joining him in the bed, right arm cushioning his head, “that we get away somewhere? A vacation? With the break coming soon, we could go on a little trip, just the two of us.”

Yuuri hums with a frown. “And Makkachin?”

Viktor’s laughter rings in his ears so preciously, the last bits of tension disappear from Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Makkachin can join us, if she wants,” Viktor says. He turns to his bedside table and turns the light off before lying on his back and opening his arms. “Come here, love.”

When Yuuri falls asleep that night, the apartment is quiet but for the sound of Viktor’s heart beating steadily against his ear.

It feels like home again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading <3 always make sure to take some time to rest.


	4. coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you want some coffee?”  
> Yuuri groans where he’s leaning against Viktor’s back which is shaking a bit now. How can he be so awake in the mornings, Yuuri has no idea.  
> “Ah, right,” Viktor muses as he pours himself a cup, “You don’t like it.”
> 
> in which Yuuri doesn't like coffee but still offers it to Viktor as a sign of comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for day 4 of the [domesticvictuuriweek](https://domesticvictuuriweek.tumblr.com/) on tumblr c:

“Do you want some coffee?”

Yuuri groans where he’s leaning against Viktor’s back which is shaking a bit now. How can he be so _awake_ in the mornings, Yuuri has no idea.

“Ah, right,” Viktor muses as he pours himself a cup, “You don’t like it.”

They do it every day, by now Viktor knows very well that Yuuri’s not a coffee-drinker. He always offers him a cup, though, and when Yuuri declines—

He quirks his eyebrow and looks at Yuuri over his shoulder. “Funny you work in a café and hate coffee.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “No connection whatsoever.” He kisses Viktor’s neck and steps away when the loose hairs that have fallen out of Viktor’s messy bun tickle his nose.

Viktor turns around to him, two cups held in his hands, one extended in an offer. “Here, have some.”

“Today is not the day I start drinking—“ Tea. There’s tea in the cup. Yuuri huffs a smile and accepts it, shaking his head. “I love you.”

Viktor kisses his cheek and murmurs a soft, “I love you, too.”

Off they go, eating breakfast and enjoying the last of their morning together, pretending there’s no hurry even though they both keep checking the time, both already late.

 

* * *

 

“So when’s that vacation of yours happening?” Phichit asks, pouring an astonishing amount of strawberry syrup into the grande vanilla latte signed for _Meelah._

(Meanwhile, Mila Babicheva is sitting at one of the couches, strolling through her phone. Yuuri winces at the name on the cup and decides to forget that he’s seen the mistake— _mistakes_ ; Minami is a new employee, after all. ~~And a high schooler, and one of Viktor’s students.~~ He’s still learning.)

“In two days,” Yuuri replies, moving his focus back to the porcelain mug of coffee set in front of him. He carefully pours the steamed milk into the mug in a zig-zag pattern, then moves the pitcher towards himself and finally away, creating the leaf pattern on the surface of the latte. He wipes any spilled milk away, puts the mug on the open counter and calls the customer’s name to collect it. “I already told Celestino. Seung-gil will cover my shifts.”

Phichit looks up at the mention of the name of his crush and beams at Yuuri. “Have I told you recently that you’re my best friend?” He stumbles a bit with properly securing the plastic lid on the cup. “The bestest, really. The absolute best in the—“

But Yuuri doesn’t hear the end of that sentence, since, in the very next moment, Minami excitedly yells, “Mr Nikiforov!” and his attention flies to the man who has just walked into the café.

He doesn’t pay much attention to Phichit’s amused eye roll, or how his friend walks around him and calls Mila’s name to get her latte. He doesn’t even hear Mila’s groan at the sight of her misspelled name. All he sees is Viktor.

Viktor, who’s on his free periods right now, which he usually spends in the teachers’ room, marking tests or checking his students’ homework, or even coming up with ideas for his future lessons – all so he doesn’t bring work home when he can avoid it.

Viktor, who looks like his day couldn’t get any worse.

Yuuri wipes the coffee station with a rag, watching as Viktor walks over to the counter, putting a smile for Minami’s sake. The boy doesn’t seem to notice a thing, just excitedly starts to offer his teacher all the best coffee suggestions he’s memorised already.

Viktor’s long hair looks like it’s been pushed and pulled, like Viktor tends to do whenever he’s frustrated.

Black coffee to go, Yuuri guesses the order and turns to the coffee machine—but stops and glances at the wall clock.

Still an hour to Viktor’s next class. The black coffee can wait.

“I’m taking five,” Yuuri tells Phichit three minutes later and receives a nod in reply as he grabs a serving of the chocolate cake he’s already plated and carries it as well as a big mug of creamy hazelnut cappuccino to the table Viktor’s sitting at.

“Here you go, mister. On the house,” he says softly, even though he’s paid for the order himself already. It’s worth it to see the surprise in Viktor’s eyes when he looks up from his phone, though.

“Yuuri...”

Somehow, the sound of his own name tells Yuuri everything he needs to know. He sits on the couch next to Viktor, turns to him as much as he can, and takes his hand into his own. It feels cold against his skin.

“That rough, huh?” he asks gently, massaging warmth into Viktor’s hand. Soon, their fingers curl around each other.

Viktor sighs. “There’s a lot of things I need to do before our trip,” he says, his shoulders sagging. “I didn’t think there would be so many responsibilities.”

Yuuri squeezes Viktor’s hand in sympathy, then lifts it to his lips and presses a kiss against it. “You’re not at school now,” he murmurs. “You deserve a break, even a short one.” When Viktor opens his mouth, as though to argue, Yuuri shakes his head and looks pointedly at the table in front of them. “Will you say no to your favourite triple chocolate cake? I baked it myself, you know.”

Viktor huffs a laughter and shakes his head. “No, you didn’t.”

“True.” Yuuri smiles at him and lifts the cappuccino mug. “But I made this fine cup of coffee, especially for you.”

Viktor reaches for the cup, but before his fingers curl around the ceramic, he freezes, eyes fixed on the foamy surface of the coffee.

The sound of Viktor’s laud, unrestrained laughter fills the café in the very next moment, worming its way right into Yuuri’s heart, like it’s been doing every day for the five years they’ve known each other.

There, in the cappuccino cup, poorly-drawn in cocoa powder on the canvas of coffee foam lies a bald stick figure. The brown lines have already started melting, but Viktor’s recognition proves them still recognisable.

“What have I done,” Viktor wheezes, arms curled around his own stomach, “to deserve you?”

Yuuri’s smile widens even more. He leans in and quickly kisses Viktor’s grin, tasting the tired happiness on his lips. “You brush your teeth after drinking coffee,” he jokes, pulling away. “That’s what you’ve done.”

Viktor shakes his head at him and accepts his cappuccino. Even though he doesn’t say anything, Yuuri still shushes him.

“Eat your cake,” he says, and with one last kiss on Viktor’s cheek, he goes back to work.

Half an hour later, Viktor leaves the café with a tall black coffee to-go, signed with four words:

_2 days!!! Good luck <3_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading <3 remember it's alright to not enjoy coffee, there are many other drinks that are just as lovely c:


	5. rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and Viktor go on their well-deserved vacation. Not everything goes as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for day 5 of the [domesticvictuuriweek](https://domesticvictuuriweek.tumblr.com/) on tumblr c:

The weather is awful, Viktor thinks, pouting at the sight of rain hitting the windows. The seaside was supposed to be sunny and hot this time of year, not cold and ugly. There's nothing romantic about wet sand and heavy clouds, especially on a long-awaited vacation. Even the sea their hotel room overlooks at is grey and uninviting. Viktor is one thunder away from leaving the travel agency a very thorough, very unsatisfied review. And when he’s at it, he can give weather.com a piece of his mind, too.

A faraway thunder breaks, the storm moving farther and farther away. It’s nearing its end now, but earlier that day it caught them by surprise when they were strolling through the nearby market.

Viktor sighs and lets his shoulders sag. “I’m so sorry, Yuuri,” he says, turning away from the tall windows. What words he wishes to say afterward are stolen from his lips with a kiss.

“Shhh,” Yuuri whispers, loosely wrapping his arms around Viktor’s neck. The warmth of his breath tastes so sweetly on Viktor’s lips. “Listen to the rain, Vitya. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Viktor closes his eyes with barely a sigh and leans his forehead against Yuuri’s shoulder. For the next several minutes, he can hear nothing else but the muffled patter of the rain against the floor of the balcony connected to their room. From time to time, Yuuri swallows next to his ear. When he does, Viktor turns his head against his neck and nuzzles his favourite spot there, the one where Yuuri’s neck and shoulder meet.

“It’s calming,” Viktor murmurs after a while. “I’d really prefer to see you bathed in sunlight, though.”

Yuuri chuckles against his head. “It’s not something we can change,” he says softly – and of course Viktor knows that; he knows they have no control over the weather, knows he himself couldn’t have predicted the atmospheric change—but he sure wishes he could. “We can still have a nice time, though.”

That catches Viktor’s attention. He lifts his head and finds Yuuri’s eyes, loving and warm while the rain outside seems cold and unforgiving.

But Yuuri doesn’t explain anything. Gently, he pulls away and walks to the loveseat that’s settled with its backrest to the foot of the hotel’s big, tall-mattress bed. He removes the excess of decorative pillows off it and throws them on the bed, causing Makkachin to lift her head from her own fancy dog bed across from the loveseat.

Viktor meets her eyes for a second and shrugs at the question he sees there, then looks back at Yuuri. “What are you doing?”

Yuuri grabs at the armrest of the loveseat and pulls it up, huffing with a frown when it proves to be heavier than he thought. Viktor’s lifting the other end the very next second, which earns him a genuine smile.

“I want to move it to the centre,” Yuuri says, nodding to the place a little bit off from where they’ve just stood. “In front of the windows, so we can sit and watch.”

Yuuri leads and Viktor follows, just like they did over three years ago when they were furnishing their own apartment.

(It rained then, as well, Viktor realises, and yet that day was full of hot chocolate and laughter; it still resonates warmth in his chest to this day. Maybe nice things happen in the rainfall, too.)

 

* * *

 

They’re sitting on the loveseat, cuddled up together and watching the rain like it’s the only form of entertainment worthy of their attention. With his head resting against Yuuri’s shoulder and Yuuri’s fingertips stroking gentle patterns into his scalp, Viktor swears nothing could ever make him feel more—

More loved. More worthy. More lucky.

Just _more_.

The next thing Viktor feels is a tug on his hair. A second later, his hair band is gone and his hair falls loose down his back.

Rain or sunshine, Yuuri’s hands feel wonderful in his hair every time he plays with it.

“I, for one,” Yuuri whispers against his head, his fingers running through Viktor’s long hair, softly untangling any knots, “love when it rains. There’s water in the air, it feels so fresh. And it makes your hair so soft...”

Viktor smiles. “It’s always soft.”

“Not like this.” To prove his point, Yuuri tenderly brushes the backs of his fingers against the long strands, letting out a small sigh at the feeling. Loving, adoring, amazed. “It’s not the same softness your conditioner gives it.” He combs his fingers through Viktor’s hair and when they reach the ends, he curls a strand around his forefinger. “Rain makes your hair so light. Haven’t you noticed?”

Viktor hums only, neither a confirmation nor denial. He’s always rushed away from rain, be it on his way to work or home – he’s never felt good or light having clothes drenched in the rainwater, sticking to his skin, and his hair clinging to his face.

“Wait a second,” Yuuri murmurs and shifts under him, only getting up when Viktor sits up. He walks to the glass balcony doors located between the tall windows and pushes the thin, translucent, baby blue curtains to the sides.

The sound of the rain magnifies the very second Yuuri pulls the doors open. The drops can be seen now clearly, the waters of the sea rolling in waves in the distance—but Viktor’s not paying it any mind.

Yuuri’s standing there, his back facing Viktor, arms still spread with fingertips still hanging to the edges of the now wide open doors. His shoulders rise and then fall with a deep breath in. He tips his chin up, completely giving himself over to the breeze playing with his hair, musking against his skin, brushing its fingers over Yuuri’s thighs and hips and waist – everywhere Viktor’s touch belongs.

The gentle wind carries lost raindrops and sea salt into the room and somehow manages to lift the curtains as well, as though controlled by magic.

Viktor’s never before wished so dearly to be as skilled of an artist as Yuuri. With such an image presented to him, pure and angelic and innocent, a masterpiece with a soul surely would be born. Any other form of art would be ashamed of itself when faced with the beauty of Yuuri.

Quietly, so as not to break the moment that’s so full of adoration and grace, Viktor moves close and presses his body against Yuuri’s back, wraps his arms around that lovely waist, reclaiming his spot and chasing the breeze’s searching fingers away.

Yuuri’s head rolls back against Viktor’s shoulder and his hands finally fall from the doors, finding their place against Viktor’s arms. His eyes are closed, his lips smiling. “Isn’t it lovely?” he whispers, and Viktor feels the weight of his body as Yuuri gives in to the support of his chest and arms.

The wind runs through Viktor’s hair, pushing it away from his face, for once doing something right.

With his eyes on Yuuri and Yuuri only, Viktor feels himself smile, too. “It is,“ he breathes and presses a kiss on Yuuri’s temple, arms tightening. “It really is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! c:


	6. closeness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here they are, Yuuri and Viktor, sitting so close to each other they could very well be of one soul.  
> in which Yuuri and Viktor are stuck at the airport at the very end of their vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for day 6 of the [domesticvictuuriweek](https://domesticvictuuriweek.tumblr.com/) on tumblr c:

The airport is the kind of place they wouldn’t voluntarily spend their free time at, not when it means sitting in small, plastic chairs, but that’s exactly where Viktor, Yuuri, and Makkachin are stuck on a very late, Sunday evening.

Their one-week-long, seaside vacation is swiftly coming to a close, already turning into memories instead of everyday experiences. In a week’s time, the tan of their skin will be one of the only reminders of the days they’ve spent frolicking amongst the sea waves or walking on the shore together during the sunset. Both their phones and the cheap disposable cameras they’ve bought are full photos, most of which they’ve already forgotten taking, but those aren’t the moments that will forever stay in their minds.

No, Viktor thinks, as he sits in one of the plastic chairs, his right arm wrapped around Yuuri’s form, keeping him close as they wait for any information on their delayed plane. The moments most precious to his heart always happen when no cameras are pointed at him – just like now.

The chairs are uncomfortable, his back is stiff, and his lungs seem much too willing to reject the airport air full of strange smells for his liking. Makkachin can’t be comfortable, either, lying pitifully in her carrier. (It’s for her own good, Viktor tried to explain to her earlier, like he does every time they have to travel somewhere by plane. Airports are busy places, somebody could accidentally hurt her.) But here they are, Yuuri and Viktor, sitting so close to each other they could very well be of one soul. No discomfort matters to Viktor when they rest against each other, his cheek against Yuuri’s head, his left hand held gently in Yuuri’s own.

There’s comfort and understanding, and exhaustion and relaxation. There’s trust when Yuuri’s breath slows down at one point and all Viktor feels for the next half an hour are regular puffs of warmth against his neck.

It’s funny, the magnitude of such ordinary things as a loved one’s breathing, the power it wields as it crashes realisation over its victims in tired hours.

When Yuuri stirs, Viktor stops breathing and wishes for the world to freeze, as well.

It’s already too late, though; Yuuri wakes up from his nap the same way he does in the mornings – reluctantly, putting up a half-hearted fight. He doesn’t move away, not at first, not at all. Instead, he frees his hand from Viktor’s and embraces Viktor’s middle with both arms, hugging him tightly when somebody else would just get up and get their stretching done in a more common way. Viktor’s not going to complain, though, not ever.

_You make my life worth living_.

His chest aches at the sudden thought and he clings to Yuuri as strongly as he’s being held.

“Vitya?”

He blinks down and finds a pair of brown eyes peeking up at him. “Yes?”

“Is everything alright?”

_You brighten up my days._

He wants more moments like this – more days like the week full of rain and sunlight and carefreeness, spent close to Yuuri, _with_ Yuuri and Makkachin, more days when it’s all about them and them only.

Viktor smiles and kisses the frown away from Yuuri’s forehead. “Everything’s absolutely perfect,” he says and closes his eyes as they lean their heads against each other again. “I’m glad I’m here with you.”

“I’m glad I’m here with you, too,” Yuuri whispers back, his own sleepy smile audible in his voice. “I’d be even gladder if we were already home, but oh well...”

Viktor chuckles at that, unable to do anything but agree. “Soon, love,” he promises.

_You make me feel brave._

Stagnant – that’s what his life used to be before Yuuri. He’s always been reluctant to introduce any changes into his life. In his teenage years, it was always school, helping out at his grandfather’s library, homework, and sleep. Colourful life was but a story which only belonged to heroes of the books he loved to read, all the while believing his only destiny was to live vicariously through their adventures. His own life was full of responsibilities and shaping his own future, and it continued on this way through all the years of his pedagogical degree.

It worked – why would he ever change something that worked?

‘Don’t be afraid to live your life to the fullest’, is the moral of some of the books Viktor studies along with his high-schoolers. ‘Don’t close yourself off to new experiences.’ Such profound lessons, yet he’s spent his entire life neglecting them.

_You make me feel brave_ , he thinks again, stronger, _braver_ , at Yuuri this time, who’s scrolling through his phone without paying any attention to what’s on the screen, holding the device in a way that makes it possible for Viktor to watch, as well.

With the heat of Yuuri’s sleep-warmed body resting so trustingly in his arms, Viktor’s heart sings, ready to burst right here and now, stuck in the airport full of hurrying travellers. He wets his lips, as if to taste the words that always rest there, ingrained from their everyday use. They’re not the ones he’s looking for, though; not now.

“When we get back,” he whispers, only for Yuuri to hear, “I want to try something new.”

Yuuri’s head shifts against his own, his half-open eyes flutter to Viktor’s lips. “Like what?”

_Everything_ , Viktor thinks. _Everything I haven’t done yet._ _Everything life has to offer._

To Yuuri’s question, he simply smiles, a slow, deliberate thing, and murmurs, “It’s a surprise.”

Who knows what they can do?

In the end, it doesn’t really matter, as long as they’re there to do it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading *hugs* always try to live your life to the fullest by doing the things _you_ want and that make _you_ happy!


	7. surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life and love can be full of surprises; all you need is courage to face them.  
> in which Yuuri and Viktor are back from their vacation and Viktor decides it's time for a change—without telling Yuuri about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written (late) for day 7 of the [domesticvictuuriweek](https://domesticvictuuriweek.tumblr.com/) on tumblr c:

> _> > I’m a bit nervous, to be honest_.

Yuuri smiles at his phone as he locks the apartment door. Once his keys are back in his pocket (or rather, in _Viktor’s_ pocket, since Yuuri’s own coat seems to have disappeared), he makes sure that Makkachin’s leash is secure both on her collar and around his wrist and slowly walks towards the staircase.

> _< < It’s just a trim. You’ve been to Chris’s salon countless of times, you know he’ll take good care of your hair_

He pockets his phone when Viktor doesn’t immediately start replying and takes the stairs. The phone vibrates somewhere in the middle of the second flight but he’s too busy being pulled down the stairs by Makka to even reach for it.

Out the building door, though, he stops by the sidewalk, giving Makkachin time to sniff excitedly at every smell that wasn't there on her morning run. He pulls out his phone and unlocks it, unable to stop the smile at the sight of Viktor’s face in the newest photo he's just been sent.

> [a photo of Viktor sitting on one of the hair station chairs in Chris’s salon. His long hair is wet, having been professionally washed recently, falling in straight strands down his body which is covered by a black hairdressing cape. Behind him stands Chris himself, grinning at the camera with scissors and a comb held in his hands over Viktor’s shoulders.]

Yuuri shakes his head at the grin and wink on Chris’s face and strokes his thumb over Viktor’s hair. It looks nearly white when contrasted with the black fabric. His touch opens the picture and when he closes it, his breath hitches.

> _> > It's not just a trim this time :)_
> 
> _> > Surprise!_

He must have been staring at the words, and then at the locked screen, for way too long because his phone vibrates for a second time.

> _> > Yuuri?_

He's been silent for 3 minutes, the timestamps on the messages tell him.

_Shit_.

He rushes to reply, only glancing up from the screen when he hears Makkachin’s impatient bark.

“I know, I know, just give me a second,” he mutters to her, already tapping away on his phone. “It's very important, I swear. Code _red_.”

> _< < Sorry, I'm just shocked_
> 
> _> > Bad shocked?_
> 
> _< < It depends on why you're doing this, love_
> 
> _< < Is it getting bad again?_

‘Bad’ as in the reality of life suddenly being too much, the shadows of responsibilities growing into impossibly overwhelming thoughts. ‘Bad’ as in Viktor feeling like he's losing control over his life and desperately trying to reclaim it in ways that are neither rational nor thought through. ‘Bad’ as in loving Yuuri and Makkachin but being unable to show it in the little gestures that are purely _Viktor_.

Like today morning, Yuuri remembers with an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, when Viktor asked him to walk Makkachin instead of going for their everyday run himself. Truthfully, Viktor went out anyway instead of staying in bed till 3PM but that could still very well be a sign.

Usually, they talk about this as soon as possible, Viktor’s bad days and Yuuri’s own anxious episodes, mostly encouraged by each other. It's never easy to start the conversation by themselves, that's why they're lucky they recognise each other's signs as soon as they appear.

Or rather, Yuuri thought he was able to tell whenever Viktor’s mind was growing darker and darker – if he's missed that, then... What kind of a partner is he?

> _> > Oh Yuuri _ _♥_ _It's nothing like that, I promise._
> 
> _> > Quite the opposite. I've never been this happy :)_
> 
> _> > I'm really excited to cut my hair! And scared. But mostly excited! I've been thinking about this for some time now and I'm ready for a change._

Makkachin tugs at the leash with a wistful _boof_ towards the dog park on the other side of the street.

Yuuri sighs and shakes his head. “We're not going there, not yet,” he reminds her.

A new message.

> _> > And besides, it will grow out anyway, right?_
> 
> _> > And then you'll be able to draw me again if you so wish._

Yuuri’s eyes soften at the words. It's not Viktor trying to prove Yuuri that his decision is right. It's Viktor searching for support and reassurance.

And he's searching in a good place.

> _< < It will, Vitya _ _♥_
> 
> _< < Even if it won't, I'll still draw you. Even with ridiculous hairdos._
> 
> _> > Promise?_
> 
> _< < Promise._

He sends Viktor a simple red heart emoji and starts walking along the street. Makka jumps up to her paws and follows him, not minding at all that the dog park is not their destination.

The sidewalk isn't as busy as Yuuri knows it to be, but it's no surprise at this time of the day. Most people are still at work or getting their education, not enjoying their last days of freedom like Yuuri and Viktor are.

They've come back from their vacation in the middle of the night to an empty fridge and only a pack of dry food to serve as breakfast. Now that Viktor’s at the hair salon getting himself all new and pretty, Yuuri leaves Makkachin outside in the space dedicated to dogs and walks into the grocery store, intent on filling their cupboards with something more edible than salted crackers and spoiled milk.

 

* * *

 

He's in the dairy aisle, deciding between two brands of butter when he gets another message.

> [a photo of Viktor, wet hair brushed in a way that covers his face like the girl from _The Ring._ ]
> 
> _> > Would you draw me like this?_

Yuuri stifles his laugh behind his hand and puts the butter he's already holding into the shopping cart.

> _< < If it made you happy, I would_
> 
> _> > Good! Since I won't have as much hair anymore, you should save this photo and draw inspiration from it :D_

Yuuri sighs, fondly shaking his head. And because he can't help himself, he bites his lip and types:

> _< < You know, it’d be easier to draw you bald ;P_

He doesn't have to wait long for an answer; he’s only in the next aisle when his phone vibrates again.

> _> > You already draw me bald o-<-<_

Yuuri stops with a cartoon of cereal midway to his cart. The thing slips out of his fingers and lands on his other shopping as he stares at the message in confusion.

> _< < What do you mean?_

He frowns at the row of symbols, brings the phone closer to his face and squints. And then it hits him. He closes his eyes for a second to steal himself, shakes his head, fighting the amused smile that’s already blooming over his lips, tilts his head to the left and _looks_.

Laughter bubbles out of Yuuri, startling two teenage girls present in the cereal aisle, but he doesn't pay them any mind.

> _< < Oh my god_
> 
> _> >  :D_
> 
> _< < Is this a stickman emoticon :’D_
> 
> _< < I’m adding this to your name_
> 
> _> > Yuuuuuuuuuuuuuri!!!_

Yuuri grins to himself as he edits Viktor’s contact in his phone to add the emoticon, right after the diminutive of his name, and saves the changes.

That's it, **_Vitya o- <-<_** is the best piece of art he'll ever create – the thought fills him with the joy of an evil mastermind. There are people looking at him so he forgoes a mischievous chuckle and instead pushes the cart toward the bakery section. Bread is something they desperately need as well.

He gets one loaf and four whole wheat rolls—and before he can talk himself out of it, he also grabs two chocolate-covered donuts. Viktor seemed to enjoy them with his coffee during their vacation.

With everything checked from his mental shopping list, Yuuri stands in the line to the checkout, several customers already waiting there in front of him. He pulls out his phone again and reopens his chat with Viktor.

> [a photo of Viktor smiling in the overly-confident way of a cheesy bad boy, his hair already cut to probably half the usual length. It’s full of some kind of product that Chris is still applying to it, making it stick upwards on the top of Viktor’s hair, creating something akin to an impressive, yet messy, mohawk.]
> 
> _> > Would you kiss me like this?_

Yuuri snorts and _has_ to look away, look anywhere, at anything else but the screen. Viktor’s having way too much fun with this and Yuuri’s heart constricts with how happy he is to see him challenge himself like this and find excitement in these new experiences. It must help that it’s Chris cutting Viktor’s hair, too – he wouldn’t feel nearly as comfortable with any other professional but his friend.

This is important to Viktor, probably even more than Yuuri realises, he knows. All he can do is be here to support him and humour him in whatever way he can.

Well...  And maybe tease, just a little.

> _< < Oh well... I’d have to get used to it, I guess_
> 
> _< < Good thing it’s your lips I kiss, and not the top of your head, I wouldn’t reach that high_
> 
> _> > But you do kiss my head sometimes :( I don’t want you to stop!_
> 
> _> > Give me a minute._

Yuuri smiles at the screen and locks his phone, giving Viktor all the time he needs. With his turn at the checkout, he pays for his shopping and packs it all into two bags, and with a quick _thank you!_ to the shop assistant, he leaves the store.

Makkachin’s tail starts waggling the moment she sees him.

“There you are, such a good girl, waiting for me,” Yuuri coos at her as he puts the bags down to secure Makka’s leash around his wrist again.

Viktor sends him a new message and Yuuri looks between the bags on the ground and his phone, internally debating with himself, only to swipe across the locked screen.

> [a photo of Viktor, still with the messy mohawk on, but this time it’s shorter. Strands of seemingly glued-together silvery hair are stuck to the hairdressing cape.]
> 
> _> > And now? Would you be able to reach my hair to kiss it?_

“Look.” Yuuri turns the phone to Makkachin, showing her the photo. “Isn’t he ridiculous? Don’t we love him a lot?”

She sniffs at the phone and looks up at him with her head tilted to the side.

“Yes, we do.” Yuuri nods, taking Makkachin’s soft _boof_ as the agreement it’s probably not and types a quick reply before pocketing his phone and lifting the shopping bags.

> _< < I’d do my best _ _♥_

 

* * *

 

 

They spend half an hour in the dog park, Makkachin running and jumping together with other dogs while Yuuri sits on one of the benches and watches her. She's not the youngest doggo anymore, ten years old already, yet she still has the energy to play with everybody that shows even the tiniest inkling of interest.

He gives her several more minutes of carefreeness, spending them reopening Viktor’s silly selfies and appreciating them all over again before he calls Makkachin over. It's nearly lunchtime, he could start with cooking before Viktor gets home.

The next time Yuuri’s phone vibrates is when he's searching his pockets for his keys. He only unlocks the screen when he finds them, a reward as good for not actually losing them again as Makkachin’s proud bark.

“Oh, come on, it was only one time!” he tells her. At the tilt of her head combined with a whine, he sighs, resigned. “Alright, alright. _Two_ times. Happy?”

Her panting is an answer enough.

“Like owner, like dog,” Yuuri mutters under his breath with a shake of his head as he chooses the right key.

With Makka content, he finally opens Viktor’s new message, all the while blindly trying to fit the key into the apartment door lock, only to fail miserably when his eyes fall on the new photo, as ridiculous as the previous one.

> [a photo of Viktor, his hair is even shorter now than in the last one – this time, it’s modelled in multiple spikes all over his head. Behind him, Chris’s shoulders are visible, tense with held-in laughter.]
> 
> _> > Would you marry me if I looked like this?_

The keys fall out of Yuuri’s hand.

He can’t breathe.

No, he _can_ , his heart is beating, working faster in his chest than it usually does after taking the stairs. He _can_ breathe, he takes a breath right where he stands and proves himself right.

_Would you marry me if I looked like this?_

Warmth.

_God_ , warmth is all he can feel.

He looks at the image right above Viktor’s last text message and smiles, and when the screen dims, he’s surprised to see his own reflection in it, eyes sparkling and cheeks kissed with pink.

Yuuri unlocks the phone again and looks at the photo some more, his smile widening.

> _< < I’d marry you even if you only had just one hair on your head, Vitya_

With one last look at the photo, Yuuri lets out a breath shuddering with the exhilaration running through his body. He grabs the keys from where they landed on the doormat and finally opens the apartment, letting Makkachin in first. As soon as she’s free, Makka shuffles to her water bowl, leaving Yuuri to deal with both the shopping bags and his feelings.

He can’t do both at the same time, that’s for sure, he thinks and takes a deep breath to balance himself again.

“Put away the shopping first,” he says to himself with a decisive nod and gets to work.

 

* * *

 

His phone vibrates on the coffee table only an hour later, making Yuuri jump at the loud noise where he’s cuddled with Makkachin in front of the TV, mindlessly watching some daytime show. He reaches for the phone and unlocks the screen, a smile immediately growing on his face when he sees that it’s a new image from Viktor.

> [a photo of Viktor, still sat on Chris’s hair salon chair. On his head, he’s sporting a bald wig, the colour of it darker than that of his own skin tone. His face is the image of unadulterated horror.]

Yuuri throws his head back against the backrest and _laughs_.

He laughs until his chest hurts with it, until there are tears in his eyes.

Somebody knocks on the front door just when Yuuri scrolls down the chat to read Viktor’s text. Makkachin jumps off the couch and rushes to the door, already barking her _hello_ to the visitor.

There are no other new messages apart from the photo.

Yuuri shakes his head at ‘bald’ Viktor and lets out another short laugh.

The knocking sounds again.

“Coming!” he calls and finally gets up, leaving his phone on the couch.

In the tiny hall, he grabs Makkachin’s collar to make sure she won’t try to jump in her excitement at whoever’s standing outside and opens the door, saying:

“Sorry for the wai—“

—only to freeze.

Standing there, clad in Yuuri’s own coat is Viktor. But—

Yuuri blinks at Viktor’s head, his lips parting.

His silver hair is long no more, nor is it sticking in any direction. The waves Yuuri’s known all these years are replaced by a moonlit waterfall falling over Viktor’s left eye.

His hair is—

“Beautiful,” Yuuri whispers, chest tight with wonder.

If before Viktor looked like one born in realms known only to fairytales, now there’s an awe-inspiring, polished magnificence to him. Kingdoms could fall over a single smile of his, Yuuri’s sure of it; he knows he already has.

“Yuuri?” Viktor says, voice filled with softness meant only for their utmost private moments. That, more than anything, brings his attention back to the present.

“Yes?”

Briefly, Viktor glances down and Yuuri follows his eyes, towards Makkachin who’s sat at his feet, panting happily at—

He snaps his eyes back to Viktor, breath stopping, stares at his hands, stares at what’s _in_ his hands, stares till he can’t see much through the curtain of tears flooding his sight.

“Let’s get married,” Viktor murmurs, the slight tremble in his voice at the end of the last word making it sound like a question.

The world freezes, and then bursts with thoughts and emotions, all rushing through Yuuri’s head like a long-time coming avalanche, and yet—

Yuuri breathes out, tears falling as he does.

—and yet his heart feels calm, full of an inexplicable peace in the colour of blue.

_Never_ has he been so certain about anything in his life.

 

* * *

 

> [a photo of Yuuri covering his laughter with his right hand as he sits at one end of their kitchen table, a plate of half-eaten spaghetti bolognese and a glass of red wine set in front of him. His eyes are sparkling, crinkled with a smile as he looks at the person taking the photo. On his ring finger glints a golden band.]
> 
> **v-nikiforov** _He said yes!!! #mylifeandlove #newbeginnings #imsoblessed_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are, friends, right at the end (or is it the beginning in this case?). I want to thank you all so much for reading this tiny domestic series of ficlets, for leaving comments so adorable and flail-inspiring that left me typing away at this story every day for the last two weeks or so. Thank you to all those people who sent me messages on [tumblr](https://belovedyuuri.tumblr.com/), screaming about the words I wrote. Writing every day wasn't very easy for me but all that amazing feedback I got? It got me going and all I have to say about this is #imsoblessed  
> I hope your life is full of love <3

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading <3
> 
> Edit: ADWEN CREATED [THIS ABSOLUTE MASTERPIECE OF A FANART](http://adwendoodles.tumblr.com/post/172047566353/when-he-returns-its-with-another-canvas-in-his) FOR ME AND I'M CRYING THANK YOU


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